


Walking Home

by Red_Deckchair



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: ...but only with Collins, All Farrier's POV, Canon-Typical Violence, Farrier centiric, Farrier is a softy..., Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Original Character(s), Other, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Canon, World War II, descriptions of blood (but its not really gory)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-27 02:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Deckchair/pseuds/Red_Deckchair
Summary: Following the events at Dunkirk, Farrier finds himself in the heart of enemy territory. Travel with Farrier as he tries to get home while continuously having to battle against the enemy, the environment and even his own companion, all in the desperate attempt to return to his love, Collins.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for checking this fic out. This is my first ever fanfic and i'm still kinda new to the community/website, so if I have done something wrong please correct me. This fic is not beta-read (still not sure what that is, its proofing right?...can you tell I skimmed the entrance info???) so there may be a few mistakes. Hope you enjoy reading this:)

Soundless. I remained still, refusing to stir. The enemy would see the slightest movement. Even my breath was slow and regulated, so as not to create mist in the bleak air - though my heart proceeded to hammer its way out of my chest. The two of us, lying there, embedded in bushes with bated breath, frozen with fear that we secretly felt yet refused to let show on our stoic faces. Gunshots firing in the distance causing slight shudders to travel up my spine and vibrate off the walls of my scull. However, these tremors held little significance to me, having grown so accustomed to the sound of bullets ricocheting of the dark bark of the trees that loom overhead. These trees that both provide the comforting shadows that allow us to slip through the forest relatively unseen, yet provide the Nazi’s with a target for practicing when the days of slaughtering and imprisoning innocents becomes dull. Imposing the constant stress that while laying with our chests pressed into the ground, inhaling the musky sent of the wet earth, some Jerry with a poor shot will miss its target and instead hit the soft human flesh that resides in the bushes. Knowing we are to suffer many nights like this, praying that we slip by unseen, in the hope of reaching the border of the enemy territory and into the welcoming arms of our allies without those machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts following the devils code from seizing us again.

We knew we could not out run the Germans, it seemed that wherever we were they followed, bringing destruction and death that saturated the air with that hateful scent of blood and decay, to the point that with every breath you could taste the foul metallic flavour on your tongue. Wherever we hid there were always gunshots nearby like the singing chimes of death taunting us with how close it is to being our end. That as long as that unholy man with the outlandish facial hair continues on his tyrannical rain, his soldiers will remain marching and those chimes on our backs that carol the songs of death will grow louder and louder until there is nothing left of a man but his quaking shell and his fears. I fear my travelling companion has already been cornered by the purr of the chimes as I smother his cries and howls with my hands during the callous winter nights when sleep is scarce as it is. I do not know of his name nor where he is from, just the pitiful pleads he sends up into the inky darkness in a language I do not understand. His futile attempts of gaining the attention of some higher entity, as if God would spare his time for one whimpering man when the world is burning at the hands of a creation from hell. In this unforgiving environment where men with hearts crippled by the cold, barely holding onto humanity, treat you like cattle- herding you into pens to be slaughtered in desolate metal boxes, survival is only possible if we make ourselves scarce, scurrying through the undergrowth, to keep ourselves from being found. With only the thoughts of home and safety as my guide, I shall stride until my love is once again in my arms my it be in life or death. I will return to you Collins.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days of continuous trekking, exhausted beyond belief and with hours of daylight left, we decided we had to rest and make camp for the night. I could not move my legs any further. They were the most painful they had ever been. I am a pilot after all not a foot soldier, I was trained to travel the sky’s not the marshy soil of the ground. Feeling physically and mentally drained, the strangely hopeless feeling that had settled in the pit of my stomach grew now that I had nothing to do. At least the walking had kept my mind occupied and had kept me distanced from the reality of what was happening. After building a fire and rationing out the food it was late into the night. The mousey lad was to take first watch with the silent agreement to swap shifts in a few hours while I was to undertake the difficult task of coaxing the body into a fitful sleep.

\---  
(FLASHBACK/DREAM)

“What ‘bout a home in the country, away from everything, everyone. A small cottage out in the middle of nowhere.”  
I smiled softly into the damp blond hair which had been faintly tickling the tip of my nose for the past few minutes while I tried to regain my breath. With each deep inhale of air, the fresh sent of sea air and the bland soap that they provide at the barrack showers filling my head with a heavenly sense of calm. A small smile could be felt where my collarbone met the base of my neck, just a slight change in the pressure as soft lips curved upwards in a motion as light as if it was merely a brush of silk in response. The slight chill in the room barely felt with the warm sturdy weight resting leisurely against my side, a heated cheek lying on my shoulder chasing away the shivers brought about by the cool air against my sweat damp skin. The dangers of being discovered laying together on the thin, lumpy mattress forgotten in the serene quiet of the room. The peace that has settled into the quiet of the dimly lit room where only the slight rasps of our breathing can be heard and the gentle thud of hearts felt through skin tinged gold by the muted yellow light of the lamp, offering an escape from the invasive sound of artillery fire and the constant churn of a spitfire’s engine. 

Drawn from my own musings by a hand tracing patterns into the skin of my chest and shoulder, the callouses lining the pads of each finger catching on the scars already present from the war raging around us. Two Pools of sea water greeted me, glinting in the gentle light emitted by the bedside lamp, the gleam similar to the way the sea of the channel reflects the suns light on days in which the weather is favourable. Collins has shifted so that now his chin is rested upon my chest, lazy smile on his handsome face as he continues to share his day dreams of the future life he wishes us to lead after this retched war is over. I know it is foolish to dream such things, Collins does to. We both understand that reality has harsh punishments in-store for people like us, that to lead a life together in peace, away from prying eyes and people who would wish to do us harm would be near impossible. Still we both indulge in the fantasies of blissful lives in each other’s arms, where we can love one another freely in the private solitude of our cottage where no one can hurt us, not Jerries’ nor the people we call our allies. We allow ourselves to dream such realities because what is one to do in times of war, where despair, dread and death are so pungent in our hearts that we must latch onto the little hope we have for a better future with an iron grip. Without repeatedly reminding ourselves of these hope filled dreams we are surely to lose this war to those demons commanded by the devil. We latch onto that small bit of fragile hope for our lives because it is what will save our lives. Without that hope, our forces lose the motivation to fight for King and country till the very last breath.

“Where has your mind taken you Farrier,” Collins spoke in a soft whisper, unwilling to disturb the peace and quiet of the room, tone kind but barley hidden worry present in the set of his brows and the little frown afflicting his mouth.   
“It is nothing my love, I was just thinking.” I replied in the same kind tone in which Collins had spoken with, trying my best to rid his youthful face of that treacherous frown and bring back that beautiful smile that could warm even the coldest parts of my war chilled heart. Although it seems my efforts failed as I watch Collins’ brows furrow further and that frown draw deeper, marinating his stunning features with concern. 

Taking Collins’ hand that was still absentmindedly tracing patterns in my own, I proceeded to entwine our fingers together before bringing our clasped hands closer to my mouth. Tenderly placing a chaste kiss to each knuckle, the action alone displaying the love I feel for him and that I truly am fine as long as he is in my arms. Fortunately, a look of understanding crosses Collins’ face, smoothing the creases in his forehead and easing his mouth back into that easy smile. I gently caress his knuckles with my thumb in a silent thank you for saving me from the inevitable embarrassment of fumbling my words.

“My parents always used to dance together. After all the dishes from dinner were washed my Da would pour himself a whiskey and set a record on the gramophone. He had a whole shelf of them, collected them for years. Each night while Maw finished drying the dishes he’d run his finger along the edge of each record, humming the tune of the one he’d eventually pick.” Collins said reminiscently, eyes glassing over as he imagined his past in his mind. “I was only a wee lad at the time, wasn’t even supposed to be watching them because Maw had already sent me up to bed with my sister, but I’d sneak out of my room as soon as I heard the music playin’ downstairs. I used to sit at the top of the stairs and watch them through the gaps between the old wooden banisters.” A melancholy chuckle escaped his lips, the vibrations of it rattling around in his chest causing his shoulders to faintly bounce against my side. 

“I still remember how they would sway together in front of the fireplace, not even in time with the music. How Maw would laugh quietly at something my Da had said, rest her forehead against his shoulder. It was so blissfully domestic.” It is not often that Collins speaks so freely about his family, the memories carrying too much pain for him to bare reminiscing over them frequently. Though he has never spoken so in words, I can tell he is running from his past by the longing faraway gazes he casts out the window when the nightmares brought on by war overwhelm him. When in the dead of night, drenched in sweat, he leans against the sill of the window, glass panes ajar just enough to let in the melodious tune of rain pelting the earth to calm him, to ground him. With a lit cigarette between long fingers, supple lips encircling the end, inhaling the relaxing smoke till every area of his lungs is filled I see the sorrow filled reflection of the man I have fallen in love with. The look of a man so lost triggering every muscle in my body to yearn to just hold him close. But I wouldn’t. My fingers would twitch restlessly at my sides craving to do that very thing, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk the resentment Collins would undoubtedly show me for trying to comfort him, believing that I saw him as weak. He is a man desperate for love and affection yet is too proud to accept it, to admit that that he cannot be strong all the time. So I would continue to watch him silently from my bunk under the pretence of sleep – as if I could remain asleep with the sound of my loves muffled sobs infusing the air – hands clenched in tight fists by my thighs, knuckles white from the force just to refrain myself from reaching out to him. I may spend hours or merely minutes just watching him, waiting until he eventually stubs the cigarette out and returns to bed, only then do I allow myself to drift back to sleep. 

“Do you still have them? The records?” I ask out of pure curiosity, not willing to let Collins tuck this part of his life back into the arcane recesses of his mind, not when I still know so little.   
“No…well at least not all of them.” Collins replied bitterly. Although I know that bitterness is not directed at me, it still hurts to hear that edge in his voice, to know that I had touched something tender with my question, to know that I had accidentally brought the pain that seems to so seamlessly corrupt all Collins’ childhood memories to the surface. 

I mentally sighed at myself. It had all been going so well.

(FLASHBACK/DREAM TO BE CONTINUED...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da – Scottish slang – dad  
> Maw –Scottish slang - mum
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the second part of this fic. Will be updates soon.  
> Comments/questions and kudos are very much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

(FLASHBACK/DREAM CONTINUED)

Conversation had lulled after that, the stagnant pause in the room bordering uncomfortable. Collins had not moved from his position on my chest but was refusing to meet my eyes, lean muscle tense under my fingers, no doubt chastising himself for showing ‘weakness’ in front of me, for letting that past pain seep into the present. The prideful idiot. 

Don’t shut me out. Don’t shut me out...don’t raise those walls. God I loathe the loneliness that comes with loving you…don’t shut me out again…please…don’t leave me out on my own.

“What happened? Do you still have the gramophone?” Don’t shut me out…please…don’t shut me out…don’t lock me out again.

Collins remains silent, still refusing to even look me in the eye, so lost behind those climbing walls. Don’t shut me out…don’t shut me out. I gently grasped his chin, my fingers grip firm but not forceful, the barely there stubble still able to be felt under the stiffened leather of my fingers. The soft touch causing Collins to flinch slightly, no doubt hauling him from the turbulent sea of emotions that so consistently try to drown him, drag him deeper and deeper into their depressive abyss. Yet his face remains impassive. So agonisingly blank. 

I begin to drag my thumb from its resting place on Collins chin up along his jaw, swiping the leathery pad over his cheek bone, just under his eye. There the skin is pillowed with deep creases running along its surface, the same creases that are mirrored throughout Britain. They tell the story of how this war has already aged its occupants so that we don’t have to look into one another’s eyes and see the true uncensored horror of it all. The same ageing lines that mark the skin of children. Children who we can no longer shield from the brutality of the world, who have had their blissful naivety stripped from them by the whistle of a bomb before the anguished cries of its victims. Continuing with my ministrations, I reach his temple. Stroking the now almost cool skin with each brush of my thumb back and forth, back and forth, tracing invisible scars.

Collins broke.

The vacant expression shifting rapidly to one of deep-seated regret and guilt. When he next opened his mouth to talk, his voice waved with barely constrained emotion.  
“I let him down...I let them down. After he passed and Maw got sick I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to support them. So I sold the records and the gramophone. We needed the money. Maw begged me not to sell them. Said she rather die than see the last bits of Da pawned off for a few pennies. But I did it anyway…I was desperate! And a load it did. Now my Maw and sister are gone and all I have left of them and Da are a few records I CAN’T EVEN LISTEN TO!” The first part of his speech starting in a broken whisper, steadily climbing in volume, ending with a sombre watery chuckle. Yet there were no tears. Collins still too stubborn to let himself slip into sobs. The only indication he is dangling off the precipice of an emotional breakdown is the mist settled over his eyes.

I have no words that could answer him justly, words that I could deem adequate to successfully convey my response. So I didn’t speak nor whisper or even change my facial expression. I humbly pressed my lips to his forehead in a tender kiss. A kiss that I hope shows how much I care for him without the use of silly words. Where words can be vague and fickle, I hope this simple action illustrates to Collins how much I respect him and love him. That my fondness for him is not driven purely by lust, but that I hold him in high esteem and that I won’t be going anywhere away from his side voluntarily anytime soon. 

Feeling him sigh below me, I slowly withdraw, satisfied that my small gesture at least comforted him enough to calm him some. Or perhaps the fight leaves him for he is too tired to keep up the false veneer tonight, content to let the invisible scars be a bit more visible.

Pulling Collins tighter against my chest, I murmur softly, so not to disturb the peace that has finally resettled in the room, I make a promise that I wish I could be certain wouldn’t end up empty.  
“When this war is done and won, I’ll buy you a gramophone and we’ll dance together… dance to every song of your dad’s you still have till our feet are blistered and you have to help this old man hobble to bed. We’ll dance all night in the sitting room of our little cottage in the middle of nowhere, where no one can hurt us…where we can be happy.”  
Burying my face into Collins’ wild blond hair, I can’t help the small secretive smile that crosses my lips.  
“I promise my love.” 

(END OF FLASHBACK/DREAM)


	4. Chapter 4

Soon after I had drifted into a half-hearted sleep, I felt a deathly cold hand, strikingly different to Collins’ heated one, clasp over my mouth. I woke instantly, about to impose all my strength to relieve myself of this hand, muscles coiling in preparation for a brawl. Eyes wide open; my companion towered over me, instigating a signal with his left hand to his mouth that I was not to make a sound. It’s amusing how if I had never landed on that blasted Dunkirk beach, I would have declined to even socialise let alone work with this a mouse of a man. Nevertheless, the war has plunged us into this situation and forced us to work together. This man that looks as if he would cower at the echo of a branch snapping in these murky woods has become my most trusted ally and best chance I have to return home, return to Collins. 

Gunshots reverberated around the surrounding woodland, I peered through the crack between two rocks, revealing a group of men heavily armed. The moonlight reflected off the polished metal on their rifles as they spoke boisterously in German. I observed that the mousey lad had stomped the fire out, so as not to draw any attention to the rock formation to the west of the enemy soldiers where we sought shelter not long after dusk. We remained still, not making a sound, frozen with the fear of drawing their attention to where we are laid up. The lack of a warming fire had begun to take effect. With no blankets and just the damp clothes on our backs, we began to shiver and quake. The longer this fire was out, the higher chance of hypothermia setting in, yet we could not move. We waited, watching, listening. The men had not moved for some time now, paranoia convincing me into believing they knew we were there, anticipating that the callous night air would draw us out of hiding. The fainthearted man that I somewhat unwillingly call my ally clung to my arm with a fierce grip like how a small child would hang onto a parent’s leg when they are nervous, looking to them for all the answers. I am not this lads father and I hold no answers in my hands, still that did not stop him from trying to seek comfort that was not there. We are dealing with the unknown here and we must remain strong. As the hours drew longer and the constant stress of the situation not diminishing, there was one thought, one man that allowed me to keep what was left of my sanity. Collins. His accented voice resonating in my mind, soothing the seemingly permanent constriction in my lungs that endeavoured to strangle every last gulp of air out of me, keeping the burning pain that regularly occurs when filling one’s lungs with icy air. “You are so tense Farrier” Collins voice whispered into my ear, hot breath ghosting over the shell. “Let me help you relax” the words said with a coy smile that Collins often wore when proposing such things. That slight shyness that he never managed to overcome, that endearing shyness that I have grown so fond of. 

Hours later I watched as my traveling companion began to loosen his grip on my arm. His fingers crippling under the cold to the point he could not hold on anymore. The small amount of warmth that seeped through the worn brown leather of my bomber jacket from his hand had faded away. There was silence now so we could only imagine that the German soldiers had moved on. The rest of the evening was a blur. The anxiety brought by the situation had turned us into statues of the night. The cold had turned my skin to stone and the pure chilling experience had taken our words, as we strode on solemnly, silently, making our way deeper into unknown territory. With every stride closing the distance that stretches between us and home. Before allowing my mind to numb to the rhythmic monotone thump that accompanies each step, I sent a silent promise to the heavens, “I will be home with you soon my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you enjoyed the first part of this fic. Updates will be coming soon. Comments/questions and kudos would be very much appreciated x


End file.
